So Strange Are the Ways (v2)
by misqueue
Summary: Set over episodes 4x04 "The Break Up" and 4x05 "The Role You Were Born to Play". Blaine returns to Ohio after confessing his infidelity to Kurt in New York. Kurt won't reply to his phone calls and texts. For klaineadvent 2013 prompt #18 River. This is a revised and expanded rewriteof an older 4x04 reaction fic. Part 18 of Scenes During the Break Up


The landing gear touches down with a terminal double _thud_ that reverberates in the freshly carved space within Blaine's chest. He's back in Ohio, and it's done.

Blaine texts Kurt shortly after the plane lands, as soon as the flight attendant tells them they may use their cell phones. The distance yawns deep and pulls taut between here and New York, where he left his heart. It may be still attached to him, but barely. It's up to Kurt to sever whatever strand of affection may yet bind them; Blaine has done enough damage. He isn't hopeful that Kurt won't, for hope in the aftermath of telling Kurt, it's... He doesn't know what it is.

Kurt doesn't reply to his text, but then Blaine doesn't expect him to. He can't expect something just because he wants it. At least silence is better than some other things; Blaine tries to convince himself.

His bag feels like it's twenty pounds heavier when he hauls it out of the overhead compartment. He nearly clocks himself in the head.

His mother meets him. Blaine didn't expect her to, thought he would be getting a cab home.

As she greets him, her smile is as it always is, familiar and a little forced, as if she's still not sure if she's meant to smile at him. He's never understood it, but he's grateful to see her.

"Hi, Mom," Blaine says.

She cocks her head, her smile turning to a moue of concern. "You had a good flight?"

"Yes."

She fusses uselessly with the collar of his cardigan and blinks rapidly. He knows how she worries when he flies. "This gray doesn't suit you, darling. It makes you look tired."

"I am tired," Blaine says. Her eyebrows draw together just enough to make a line, but she doesn't respond as she turns toward the direction of the escalator. He's grateful for her lack of inquiry, even as a bitterness spreads on the back of his tongue. She has no idea, and he can't tell her what's happened, because then he'll have to tell her why, and-

"How's Kurt?" she asks, more brightly now, walking half a step ahead of him and glancing back over her shoulder.

She's fond of Kurt; he definitely can't tell her what he did. "Um," Blaine starts. "He's enjoying working at Vogue dot com," Blaine replies. "His boss thinks he has a promising future there."

"That's wonderful to hear," his mother says. "I'm sure you're proud of him."

"Yes, of course," Blaine says. He slips his fingertips into his pocket to touch the silent stillness of his phone. He forgot to tell Kurt.

.

In the car, Blaine sends Kurt another text: "There are some things I wanted to say to you before I left but I didn't get the chance. Can we talk?" His fingers twitch wanting to add another 'I'm sorry' or 'please try to forgive me' but he leaves it at that. All the way home, his phone rests in his hand, lifeless.

.

On the way home, his mother stops at Baskin Robbins and buys him an ice cream. They sit in the car and listen to NPR as they eat them, and it reminds Blaine of how she'd always stop for ice cream after his dressage lessons when he was young. Sometimes it meant they got home late, which his Dad didn't like. She catches his eye now and smiles at him, this time more easily and a little bit impishly, as if they're misbehaving to do this again. It's nice. Blaine smiles back and enjoys his ice cream.

.

After dinner, Blaine goes straight up to his room. He tries calling Kurt again. He still doesn't know the exact words for what he wants to say, just that he needs to say something. It goes to voicemail. The message he leaves is simple, "It's me, Kurt. I... hope you're okay even though I know you're probably not. I am so sorry. Please call me whenever you can." He doesn't say, 'I love you' or 'I miss you' or 'Please forgive me' or 'I hate the way I left things between us' or 'I hate what I did' or...

Blaine changes into his pajamas and climbs into bed. His sheets are clean, changed today. They smell fresh, of sunshine and autumn air. He's grateful for that small thing. It's not even nine o'clock, but he is done with being conscious today. He tucks his phone under his pillow.

.

He wakes up around two AM and can't get back to sleep. His mind is a theater playing a montage of personal failure. To distract himself-or to vainly seek some sign of absolution-Blaine checks his phone for new messages. But there's nothing. He types a new text to Kurt, sends it before he can censor himself. "I understand if you hate me now. It's okay if you do. You should."

Then adds, "I hope you know how sorry I am." The words look useless on his screen, but he sends them anyway. And then adds. "I love you so much."  
.

The next day, Finn is in the choir room after school, and Blaine is glad to see him. It brings back a small portion of last year when the choir room had begun to feel like family. Blaine tries to talk to him, because Finn doesn't seem to hate him. Just asks him questions Blaine isn't sure how to answer. Then everyone else comes in and there's no point trying to answer. They're so happy to see Finn. Blaine climbs the risers and sits down in the back corner. Kurt's absence lingers.

They're going to do "Grease" for the musical this year. It's a great idea, and Blaine tries to summon some enthusiasm since Danny Zuko is a great role.

.

If Blaine thought the silence from Kurt was suffocating him before; it's strangling him now. There are moments when he sits on the edge of the bed, his unresponsive phone clenched in his hand, feeling like his skin is about to tear open, his brain will collapse, and his heart will simply shudder to a halt. He throws the phone across the room and discovers Gorilla Glass really is that strong.

He lies back and curses himself. Wishes for a moment he could escape his own skin and his own mind. Trapped in his reality, the person he is. He doesn't want to _be_ himself.

He tries to breathe, like Cooper taught him back when he was trying to teach Blaine yoga. One hand on his diaphragm, one hand over his heart, he closes his eyes, and remembers Cooper trying to explain to him how life is a river, from one moment to the next, it changes. Mutability is reality; permanence is the illusion. So maybe he's not the same person today that he was when he lost his faith in Kurt. Maybe he can escape his own self somehow. The version of himself that cheated is dead and gone, and he's born new in every heartbeat. He gets to choose who he is now, unbound from the past.

It'd be comforting if he believed it, but he doesn't. He can't absolve himself so easily when Kurt still hurts and can't forgive him.

.

At school and at home, Blaine goes through the motions like the talented actor he is. He's been doing variations of it for so long, there's enough muscle memory and momentum to carry him through dragging himself out of bed, showering, doing his hair, putting on an outfit—many of which are repeats, for he cannot summon the interest or energy to put together anything _new_. It's not like Kurt-

(Stop. Take a breath.)

It's not like there's anyone at school he's dressing for, and some of the familiar combinations remind him of better days.

So Blaine goes to his classes; he smiles at the people at whom he is meant to smile. Sits next to the people next to whom he is meant to sit. He makes small talk, offers sympathy for others' troubles, and he doesn't flinch when Brittany calls him Blaine Warbler. He answers his teachers' questions correctly when he is called upon. Does a problem from his Calculus homework on the board, gets praised for his neat and thorough work, and doesn't really care today.

Sitting in his car after class, he calls Kurt and leaves voicemail: "Hi, Kurt. I just wanted to tell you, I love you. I guess you're not ready to talk yet? Um. That's okay. I... I mean. I wish we could talk. There're some things I need you to know. But we can talk about anything. I just miss you. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I hope you know that."

No reply comes.

When he gets home from school, on the kitchen table, at his place, is sitting a familiar parcel. He mailed it last week. The addressee is covered with a taped on piece of paper, upon which Blaine recognizes Kurt's handwriting in large, black block letters: RETURN TO SENDER. It's their Gilmore Girls DVD set he sent to Kurt as proof of his apology. They'd bought them together at the Borders in the Mall, gone halves on them, so the DVD's belonged to them, to their relationship. He thought sending them would be a gesture to show Kurt they're still connected.

Kurt didn't want them.  
.

He misses Kurt more than ever. He picks at his lunch with Brittany, who talks about how she misses Santana, but it's completely different for him, and he doesn't know how to explain that to her, so he doesn't try. Most of his food ends up in the garbage.

.

Finn and Artie want him to play Danny Zuko. Blaine knows he should, and the role is his if he wants it. But how can he? Sam tells him everyone's been through this, so Blaine sucks it up and he tries. He auditions; it's expected. He chooses to sing a Sandy song, dedicates it in his heart to Kurt. But he shouldn't be on that stage. Everything feels like a lie. He can't be Danny Zuko. He disappoints his friends, but it seems the smaller hurt. He offers to play Teen Angel instead, and hopes that will be enough.

.

Miss Pillsbury stops him in the hall one afternoon. Invites him to come talk to her any time he wants. She hands him a pamphlet and smiles at him with her wide doleful eyes. He expects it to be either the 'So You're a Two-timing Ho?' one or the 'So You Look Like Crap?' one, but it's neither. It's titled 'I'm Too Depressed to Even Open This Pamphlet'. Blaine laughs humorlessly, but he takes the pamphlet. He doesn't, in the finish, open it.

.

Blaine texts Kurt every day: morning and noon. He calls every night before he goes to bed. Days pass and he doesn't get a reply. Finn tells him Kurt says he's busy with work, still planning to reapply to NYADA. That's all Finn will tell him.

At home he goes to the basement and punches the heavy bag until his arms and hands rage in agony, and he's exhausted. But he still can't sleep. The next day he has to use his shoulder to push the doors open at school. No one notices. He doesn't feel better, but at least it's a pain that he's used to.

.

He continues to text Kurt, to say good morning and wish him a good day, to tell him he's thinking of him and missing him; and again in the evening to say good night and that he hopes Kurt's had a good day, that his work is going well, and Blaine misses talking to him, but he won't call again until Kurt asks him to. Sometimes he reminds Kurt that he is still sorry, asks for a forgiveness he probably doesn't deserve, but for Kurt, he will wait forever if he needs to.

The last thing Blaine does every night is send Kurt an "I love you." Because he does. There are few things in his life Blaine is certain of, but that one is clear and true in a way he wishes it had been on the day he broke everything. But it wasn't, and he screwed up. Perhaps it was inevitable. Sometimes Blaine wishes he had never turned around that day on the stairs (but then he chokes at the thought of not having had Kurt in his life at all), or that he had never confessed his feelings to Kurt in the common room. They'd still be friends, and that would be better than what they are now, which increasingly looks like nothing at all.

Nights are the worst. Any time he's alone has the potential to be bad, but there's something about the small hours when he can't sleep. Some nights he feels empty. Those are the nights he cries, feeling the doom of his life settling around him, that this is all there is, this hollow ache, this isolation, that he will remain like this forever. He'll never be able to fix things with Kurt and no one else will ever love him the way Kurt did and Kurt will never love him that way again.

Other nights, it's more of an itch, an ache, a desperation to fill that void in any way he can. The suffocating need of it fills him, leaves him with that feeling that his body will come apart if he doesn't find some satisfaction, something to ease the terrible desire for something, anything, anyone... Just someone to want him, to look at him and see him, to smile at him, to touch him with kindness. To help him breathe. But he knows that _anyone_ won't work.

He jerks off, it's all he can think to do. It eases the ache while he's doing it, so sometimes he tries to draw it out. Sometimes he looks at porn. He tries not to think too much about Kurt. Because when he does-thoughtlessly, like his libido's imagination has its own habits and momentum-it turns so quickly from fantasy to memory, and then he can't breathe at all and has to stop.

He tries even harder to not think about Eli. But his mind betrays him and sometimes he does think of Eli-remembers Eli-and that makes him sink into self-loathing and nauseating helpless anger. So sometimes he creeps silently downstairs, down to the basement to the heavy bag so he can unload it. Either way, afterward, no matter how good the orgasm, or how hard he punches, it's never better for long; he's just more tired, more sore. Sometimes he just feels dirty and wrong, like there's something horribly malfunctioning within him, but at least, for a little while, he feels something to override the fear and despair.

.

It's past noon on a Saturday when his mother comes into his room with a large mug of coffee. She sits at the foot of his bed, straight and nervous, wakes him gently and asks him if he's all right. She's beginning to worry about him. He tells her he just misses Kurt and school is taking a lot of energy; he's working on the musical and his college applications. He has clubs and student council. AP History is tedious and has a lot of reading, He's writing a paper for that and his English creative writing assignment. He's got a Calculus test on Tuesday. And, of course, Sectionals are coming up, that sort of thing. It's just a lot of things all at once.

It's all true enough, if he's content to elide much of the detail. He tells her it's nothing to worry about. He smiles. She smiles back, relieved, and accepts his explanation. She stands and heads to the door.

"Wait. Mom?" he calls out to her, abruptly. A confession crowds up on his tongue: _I hurt Kurt really badly. I did something so stupid and so wrong and I can't undo it, and now he won't talk to me. I think we've broken up, but I don't know for sure. I miss him, and he won't talk to me. He's my best friend and we were supposed to grow old together. We were already planning our wedding and our retirement. And now he's gone and I don't know what to do. I'm scared he hates me. I'm scared that I've lost him forever. I don't know what to do._

"Yes?" she asks, expectant and concerned—and maybe little bit afraid of what he might say.

So he swallows it all down, smiles and says, "Thank you for the coffee."


End file.
